Issues with Injuries
by CrystallicSky
Summary: Chase Young is given serious cause to think on his relationship with Jack Spicer, and in less than favorable terms. CHACK, ONESHOT *rated for mild gore*


**Issues with Injuries**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown, or any of the characters in it.**

**Warning(s):Cursing, sexual implications, some mildly gory descriptions, blah, blah-blah, blah-blah, none of you care about this crud.**

Chase Young was _not_ happy.

One would think that being who he was would ensure _eternal_ happiness: an immortal with untold riches and dark powers accumulated over centuries of rich, fulfilling history, forever young, handsome, and practically a god.

However, he had long ago learned that these things alone did not cause happiness, though they could, if utilized properly, be used to _obtain_ happiness.

The point being, nonetheless, that the warlord was unhappy; no, this was a gross euphemism. Words that better fit were 'furious', 'enraged', or 'livid', but surprisingly, not at anyone external.

He and his ever-admiring fan, Jack Spicer, had...hooked up, recently.

The sex had been just too good to leave it as a one-night-stand, and so it had become a sort of fuck-buddy situation, in which the two of them shared the pleasures of the flesh.

Chase had made it clear to the goth from the beginning that that was all it was.

However, a complication had arisen a few months ago when he had been out of contact with his lover due to an argument, and it was a fairly _large_ complication.

Jack was in the hospital.

He had gotten as much of the story as he could from eavesdropping and interrogation, and from this, it seemed that the albino had been driving his cousin home from a friend's birthday party and an intoxicated driver had run a red light and crashed directly into the driver's side of the car. Megan had blacked out on impact, but when she woke up who knows how much later and her first sight had been Jack slumped forward unconscious in the front seat, blood dripping from his forehead to his chin and arm twisted at an impossible angle, she had enough sense to pull her purse away from several large bits of shrapnel (cutting up her fingers in the process) and call 911 on her cell phone.

Because the tween had been on the other side of the car, in the back seat, and had her seatbelt on, Megan was diagnosed with a mild concussion, bandaged and given a tetanus shot for her hands before being sent home.

Jack had not been so lucky.

He had taken the full impact of the crash and though he too had been wearing his seatbelt, it hadn't been enough to guard against the force of a hundred or so pounds of vehicle. The impact of the crash had fractured his skull and shattered his left arm and femur, in addition to glass and metal respectively scratching his neck and piercing deeply into his side.

When he was rushed to the emergency room, the doctors had to contend with _severe_ internal injuries caused by the jagged scrap of car forcefully wedged in his abdomen and repairing the casing of that impeccably genius brain, and he had come incredibly close to bleeding out right there on the operating table.

Thankfully, however, he had pulled through (if only barely) and had healed up quickly and nicely as was his nature, with no brain damage and only scars to show from the various surgeries on his broken limbs and side. Unfortunately, herein lie the complication...

Jack had not yet woken up.

His vitals were fine, heart-rate steady, and brainwaves strong, he just...wouldn't wake up.

Chase Young's lover had been comatose for a full five months, and he had been watching over the young man for three and a half.

It had made him think about things.

What if Spicer _never_ woke? What if he would remain this way in this hospital forever?

At first, this had made him angry; the albino he'd hand-selected to serve him in bed was going to be denied him because of some fool's decision to get piss-drunk and then _drive_? If the man hadn't been brutally and painfully killed in the crash to the extent that even his _mother_ couldn't identify his mangled corpse, you could bet Chase would've done something to the same effect.

After this anger had passed, he had moved into a more somber mood as he truly began to _think_ about things. Jack never waking up meant _more_ than just no mind-blowing sex. The goth wouldn't visit him anymore, he wouldn't bring gifts on their 'totally not in a dating kind of way anniversary, I swear', and he wouldn't attempt any snuggling after the sex that would not be had.

What that meant was no more shy smiles, no more devoted eyes on him, no more failure of an intelligent mind in his presence resulting in a praising voice's fumbles and tongue-tied screw-ups, and no more blind love for him from a beautiful creature who wanted him and only him.

No more Jack Spicer.

And that had brought about the _current_ bout of rage Chase was now in, this time directed solely at himself.

He had never taken the goth's advances seriously, had always blown them off as an annoyance of a creepy teenager who just happened to also be a good fuck, and he felt as if he'd damned himself by doing so.

In fact, the very last time he'd spoken with Jack, the boy had been pushing for a more intimate label on their relationship than just 'lovers'. Had the warlord accepted this and allowed the goth the title he so badly wanted (the equivalent of a 'boyfriend'), he now realized, he would have moved in with the man and wouldn't have been around to be forced into driving his cousin home, thus preventing the entire mess from happening.

Their last conversation had been their last fight, and now it seemed as if that 'last' might be more encompassing than just the most recent of arguments, and he was being presented with the all too _real_ chance that the closest thing he'd ever had to something _more_ than a lover was dancing on the line between life and death.

He realized now that he should've taken Jack as that 'something more' while he'd had the chance.

Seeing as no one came to visit the youth anymore except Megan (and even then, only monthly), meaning there was no chance of someone walking in, Chase reached out and curled his hand around the all-too-limp one that lay flat against the hospital bed.

He looked to the goth's face, utterly relaxed and still, eyes closed in the most unconscious of states. He truly _did_ look different without that eyeliner he always wore, but even _more_ foreign without that guileless grin on his lips.

In fact, there was a lot about him that was different in a way Chase didn't like.

He didn't like the apparatus hooked up to his lover, keeping him breathing and alive. He didn't like the sterile and chemical scent the boy was practically soaked in. He didn't like the shortness or white color of his hair, still growing back (and without dye, of course) from being sheared off to insert a metal plate into Jack's skull. He didn't like the amount of weight the teen had lost while here.

But most of all, he just didn't like his Jack here, in this place.

It wasn't right.

Turning his eyes away from the comatose young man, he sighed, feeling rather remorseful at the moment. "Spicer..." he murmured softly.

Abruptly the EKG machine's beeps sped up, Jack's heart beating just a _little_ faster at the sound of the man's voice.

Chase froze, startled, and he vaguely remembered something that his lover had once told him.

_"I swear to God, Chase,"_ Jack had informed, _"your voice just **does** something to me. You could tell me to jump off a goddamn cliff, and if you did it in that sexy growl you use in bed, I'd totally do it, even if there was a pool of sharks with laser-beams attached to their heads at the bottom."_

It was a stupid idea that wormed its way into the man's head at this recollection, foolish in every sense of the word; there was no chance such a thing would work.

But the warlord had to at least _try_.

"Spicer," he purred, giving the hand in his a light squeeze, "Spicer, wake up...for _me_..."

Of course, nothing happened.

Chase sighed, cursing himself for even daring to hope for someth-

The man inhaled sharply as he felt a twitch of muscle from within his grip, a slight jerk of a finger, soon followed by what must have been a miracle: the whole white hand squeezing around his.

Looking to the albino's face, he was rendered speechless at the sight of crinkled features, in the stage of awakening, before hazy, unfocused red eyes fluttered open.

"Ch...Chase?" was the first thing Jack Spicer said after five months of silence.

The warlord didn't hesitate.

He took his lover's chin in his hand and kissed him deeply and passionately, making sure to nonetheless be gentle and not be too forceful lest he hurt the _very_ frail-looking creature. Jack kissed back happily, weakly due to his confusion and overall drowsiness, but with definite affection.

The goth truly _did_ love him, didn't he?

"I waited," he mumbled almost nonsensically upon breaking the kiss, "I waited for you. Ev...everybody _else_ came...even _Dad_ came once!" Jack leaned his forehead against his idol's. "I didn't think you were gonna come...I thought you were still mad at me..."

Chase looked at the teenager for a long while. "No," he eventually spoke, "no, I'm not still mad at you. I haven't been mad for a long time."

"A long time?" the albino inquired, obviously only half-there, "How long've I been out?"

"Five months."

This clearly didn't reigster, as Jack only blandly accepted, "Oh...okay."

"I've had a lot of time to think while you've been here, Spicer," the warlord informed, getting straight to the point before the boy fell asleep again, "and I've reevaluated our relationship."

"Yeah?" came the murmured response.

"Yes," Chase nodded, "I thought very deeply about us, and I've decided that things are unacceptable as they are and must change."

Apprehension and fear pooled into half-awake, red eyes, and Jack a bit more soberly spoke, "You're not getting rid of me, are you? 'Cause I don't think I could...I'll try to harder to be sexy for you if-"

"No, Spicer, not _that_ sort of change." the warlord assured, "This whole experience forced me to realize that you are still human, still mortal. Faced with the prospect of losing you...it is unacceptable. I cannot." He placed his large hands on white cheeks, lips only _just_ touching to the goth's forehead. "I have decided to give you the intimacy you wanted: from now on, you are my mate, and you shall remain so for the rest of _my_ life."

Jack gently nuzzled his lover's throat at this; he felt like crowing happily, crying, kissing Chase, hell, even _blowing_ him in his complete joy and excitement at this declaration and commitment, but holy _fuck_ was he exhausted; the nuzzle was the best he could muster.

"Chase," he said softly, making sure his tone spoke of his infinite gratitude, "my head hurts...m'sleepy, too...home?"

The warlord smiled, chuckling, "Very well: _we_ will go home together."

The goth didn't even notice his IV and the various other equipment being removed as he was scooped carefully into strong arms; he simply snuggled his cheek to his beloved's chest, muttering, "Love you..."

As his Jack drifted back to sleep, Chase Young said words he'd never once spoken to a lover in his entire life. "I love you, too."

Knowing there would be all sorts of hospital personnel rushing in any minute due to the disconnection of the EKG machine from the albino, the warlord quickly teleported home, charming both himself and Jack into more comfortable clothing before settling the youth cozily amongst the pillows and blankets, then joining him.

The goth was mostly healed and could be easily taken care of by someone without a medical degree. His coma wasn't _completely_ finished with him, and he would be drifting in and out of consciousness for awhile yet, but he was out of the greatest danger now that he'd been aware, _actually_, for a good deal of time.

For now, Chase Young cuddled up against _his_ mate, enjoying the warm body up against his that he had used to so _wrongly_ take for granted.

**A/N: Yeah, Driver's Ed again; drunk-driving warning video, and I forgot my pocket-dictionary at home meaning I couldn't start on a new Anthology, so...this. .**

**PLEASE TO BE REVIEWING; 'TIS MY CRACK, LYKE SRSLY. :D**


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